


hit me like a tidal wave

by annejumps



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Porn, Barebacking, Bottom Richie Tozier, M/M, Pining, Porn with Feelings, Self-Indulgent, Top Eddie Kaspbrak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:07:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25128256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annejumps/pseuds/annejumps
Summary: “Look. I’m telling you,” Richie says to Bill for what feels like the dozenth time, trying to get an air of finality in there, “nobody wants to see a guy like me bottoming.”
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 22
Kudos: 329





	hit me like a tidal wave

**Author's Note:**

> This is highly self-indulgent.

“Aw, no, come on, Bill,” Richie says, shifting in his seat across from Bill’s desk and shaking his head. He’s blushing, which is hilarious, given that he’s in the offices of the porn studio where he literally works, and not only are there lurid posters plastered to the walls, there’s very graphic audio coming from where Mike’s studiously editing next door. “Nobody wants to see a guy like me bottoming.” 

He gestures at himself. Richie’s a tall guy, long legs and arms, broad shoulders, kind of tubby around the waist. He’s got shaggy curls, glasses, and sideburns; he’s kinda hairy. He’s a… niche taste, he knows that much. Bottoming, although it’s what he personally prefers when there are no cameras around, is in porn the domain of the waxed twinks and cute boys. Richie has never been a twink, and he’s never been cute. Waxing would be almost pointless; he’d be better off just being dipped bodily in a vat of Nair, so why even bother. 

The very fact that he’s even in porn at all seems like a long-running joke about just how much he needs attention, and frankly, it had started as a joke—one he got way too carried away with after a drunken dare from his childhood and college friend Bill, after they’d met up again at a bar when Richie had recently moved to town for his “real job,” which was—wait for it—stand-up comedy. Bill said he worked in porn, Richie promptly lost his mind, Bill bet he wouldn’t get on camera for him, and the rest was very weird history. And yet at the same time, it wasn’t weird, because it was Bill.

But then, Richie had always been probably too close to his friends. As kids, the seven of them had been weirdly intimate (well… intimate for kids), united in their outcast status. Mike’s working here now, unsurprising since he’d always been particularly close to Bill (he’s claiming to be taking a break from library work). The others have non-porn jobs, because they’re lame. Except for one of them.

Eddie, the boy Richie’s secretly loved when they were kids, works for Bill. Eddie makes gay porn. The idea would have blown Richie’s tiny little closeted gay teenage mind. Back in the day, Richie didn’t even know there was such a thing as gay porn. If he had, the idea that Eddie would someday star in it would have… well, it would have destroyed him, probably. He had no idea what his younger self would think of he _himself_ being in porn.

The first time he watched one of Eddie’s videos, after Bill told him Eddie worked for him, his body basically went numb, except for his dick; he at first didn’t think he wanted to see Eddie naked on film and not in person, having sex with a man who wasn’t him, but of course he wasn’t able to resist for long, and when he’d jerked off to it almost immediately after committing it all to memory, he’d come so hard he’d seen stars. 

He ended up voraciously watching everything Eddie was in. He thought of it for inspiration almost every time he did one of his own videos; certainly the first time, in the very offices Eddie filmed in. Eddie takes it, he gives it, he does jerkoff vids, he sucks guys off, he gets sucked off. It’s really probably too much for Richie to handle seeing, but he can’t get enough.

Yet he avoids trying to see Eddie in person around the studio offices. He feels like it would be too much. Whenever he does see him, he feels himself blushing like crazy. Like a teenager.

They’d grown up together, Eddie and their other group of friends—but somehow as compared to the rest of them, the Richie–Eddie friendship was… different. They bickered and argued, but they were inseparable. 

Eddie’s mother had been a real piece of work, though, and she’d moved them off somewhere to let her “poor little boy” “recover” from whatever bullshit illnesses she claimed he had (breaking Richie’s tender teenage heart in the process, although he never let anyone know how much he was affected). Richie didn’t know anything from anything, but he knew Eddie’s mom was full of shit, even then, and he knew he loved Eddie.

Eddie’s mother is hopefully dead, and if she is, Richie hopes hearing that her son was in gay porn was what brought about her end. 

They hadn’t seen each other since. Not until Richie met up with Bill and heard about what the others had been up to, that Eddie lived in the same town. 

It was strange—they were so close as kids that it felt like losing a limb not having Eddie by his side. Somehow, Eddie as an adult seems like an entirely different person, but at the same time, on the few occasions they’d all met up again (Richie never was alone with Eddie and that was not entirely on accident), they’d fallen easily back into their old patterns of touching, teasing, and bickering, and that wasn’t all due to the alcohol that was present. They never talk about Eddie’s work, or Eddie’s personal life. Richie would talk to him more, sure, but he’s always afraid he’ll betray something. 

But Richie had seen Eddie’s posters in Bill’s office—had nearly had a heart attack the first time. Bill had grinned at him—Richie suspected the others had an idea of his crush on Eddie, but he never asked or talked about it. For a closeted kid in a small town it was still way too embarrassing to talk about; even as an adult, even as someone who made jerkoff vids (without his face showing, of course), it was too much.

Richie likes to joke that he’s comfortable in front of the camera doing the two things he’s best at—stand-up comedy, and rubbing one out. The two are, sadly, only compatible up to a point, and so it is that he’s never shown from the neck up. Since it isn’t like he goes on stage naked (not since that one time in college!) it’s unlikely anyone recognizes him—except maybe for his occasional hookups. Richie can only hope they’d keep following the code of the closet case, the DL, and what have you. Technically he’s not really closeted, but… old habits are hard to break.

And here’s Bill trying to get him to bottom on camera. Yeah, Richie would probably show his face, Bill said, but there was an audience for that, for him, Bill would bet money on that. Richie gets a lot of fan mail, something which he finds utterly hilarious and which he can’t quite take seriously. Bill had told him people wanted to see his face, see more of him, and Richie was skeptical at best. Once they did see his face, Richie would reply, the letters would slow to a trickle, probably, if there weren’t outright calls for him to be stopped. No, Richie knows what people want from him when it comes to this, and it’s to watch him jerk it. He’s got a pretty decent cock, if he says so himself, fairly nice hands according to the letters, he knows what people want from a come shot, and he can make the right noises at the right times. He’s a ham, right? Philosophically speaking, not that different from comedy. “Getting off a good one” is a saying of his that can be applied to both making a joke and making himself come. Ha ha.

Okay. Bottoming off camera, easy enough. Richie enjoys it even though it’s kind of a hassle. Bottoming on camera is another story. 

“Come on, Richie.”

“Look. I’m telling you,” he says to Bill for what feels like the dozenth time, trying to get an air of finality in there, “nobody wants to see a guy like me bottoming.”

“I don’t agree, Rich, I really don’t,” Bill returns, like he has the past few times they’ve had this conversation. “I think at this point I have a good understanding of what people want and what they’d like. I’m telling you, there’s an audience.”

“Bill, it’s just… in my experience, what people want to see is a cute little guy taking it, squealing and whatnot.”

“I bet somebody could make you squeal.” Bill arches a brow, grinning. Richie makes a face.

“I highly doubt that, Bill. I highly doubt anyone other than _you_ wants that.”

“Are you sure it’s a no?”

“I’m pretty fucking sure. What about my career, Bill? Be kind of fucking hard to have a stand-up career when I’m known for being in actual gay porn on the side.” 

“I don’t know, man—might be interesting. Might be some crossover appeal. Plus, if you’re not publicly out when it comes to your comedy, people might not think it’s really you.”

Richie gives him a look, arching a brow. “Yeah, Bill. Totally. They’ll think it’s my twin. It’ll be kinda like that episode of ‘Friends’ with Phoebe and Ursula.”

Bill rests his elbows on his desk, laces his fingers together, rests his chin on them. He’s going to say something interesting, Richie knows, but he makes Richie wait for it, the fucker.

“What if,” Bill says, “it was Eddie topping?”

After a long moment, Richie blinks. “Eddie _Kaspbrak_?” Like Bill could be talking about another Eddie.

Bill smirks, smug. Fucking Bill, knowing his weakness.

Directly behind Bill, there’s a poster of Eddie, staring out at him with his big beguiling brown eyes. Naked, or at least, topless—the poster doesn’t show everything. He’s heart-stoppingly hot. Richie always kind of feels like these posters are taunting him, and now it really seems like they are.

Richie sighs gustily, defeated. “Tell Eddie I’ll see him on set in five,” he says, standing up.

Of course, he’s not going to be on any set in five minutes—the joke was right there, so he made it. But he does leave Bill’s office, to the sound of chuckling behind him. 

In the hall, naturally, he passes a (fully clothed) Eddie, who looks at him with his big doe eyes, probably on his way to Bill’s office. He looks happy to see him, which makes Richie’s heart lurch stupidly. _Are you a gay porn star or are you just happy to see me?_

“Hey, Richie,” Eddie says, mouth curling up just a bit on one side, bringing out his dimples.

“Hey, Eddie,” Richie replies, mouth dry. He darts his gaze away, feeling his face redden, sure that Eddie must have known why he was talking to Bill. Is he imagining Eddie watching him walk down the hall? Richie doesn’t turn around to see. He feels weirdly naked despite being fully clothed. 

Later that night, Bill texts him the information for the shoot, after letting him know Eddie agreed to it. Richie feels his face burn reading it, wondering wildly whether this whole thing was something Bill sprung on him in some sort of ongoing lifelong attempt to humiliate Richie, or what. Bill probably had to talk Eddie into it. God, how embarrassing. Probably managed to convince him there was an audience for it, decent money in it. Bill could be weirdly convincing.

Not that Eddie needed more money or fame; he was pretty damn popular in the world of gay porn, understandably so. But even so, Richie was pretty damn sure Eddie didn’t have to be enticed into it by the prospect of fucking Richie. If he’d wanted to do that, Richie would have been his for the asking for… years now, and there had been no asking. Granted, there’d been years that they were apart, but even now that they were in the same city, Eddie’s shown no signs of being interested in him. Nothing really surprising, there. Richie’s used to it.

The day approaches and Richie is helpless to stop it. The morning of, he somehow manages to numbly gather himself, eat, have coffee, shower and clean himself up, get dressed. A little voice in his head tells him it doesn’t matter what he’s wearing because he’s going to be naked soon—naked for Eddie, who’s going to fuck him. On camera. Eddie will be taking him down to Pound Town. 

He’s watched not just the videos where Eddie gets fucked, but the videos where Eddie fucks. Oh, has he watched them. Eddie’s perfectly in control—perfect, period, actually. He doesn't miss a beat; he gets the guy helpless and needy for him with ease. God, the number of times Richie has fingered himself in the shower thinking about Eddie railing him—railing him tenderly, yet thoroughly, of course. He was always sure that would remain entirely in the realm of fantasy. It would be happening today, but then, it wouldn’t be the same as if he’d actually been interested, come home with Richie, fucked him in his bed. It would have to do, though. For what it was.

Somehow he makes his way to the studio. It’s an early shoot; Bill had at least been considerate enough to make it early so that no one else would be there. Not that it was a massive studio with a huge crew, or anything. 

Bill’s on the phone with someone and jotting something down on a notepad; Eddie’s there in Bill’s office, showered, scrubbed, glowing. “Hey, Richie,” Eddie says, turning toward him some of that attention Richie had always craved from him. He’s smiling, relaxed, arms folded like he hasn’t got a care in the world. Maybe he wasn’t that grudging about having to fuck Richie. Or maybe he’s a pretty good actor, just trying to set the mood. Richie hasn’t talked to him regularly in so long, and things are so different now, that it’s tough to say with 100% certainty what Eddie’s tendencies are. Well, other than that he’s gay. They’re both gay, what a fun coincidence for them. What a tragedy Eddie isn’t actually interested in him. Probably isn’t time to dwell on that, Richie thinks, just as Eddie says to him (Bill still being on the phone), “I watch your videos, you know.”

“Oh?” Richie says, like he’s been smacked in the stomach, feeling himself go wide-eyed, jaw a little slack. For some reason, he’s never considered that Eddie might watch his videos. Which was… stupid of him, to assume that he didn’t, or to not even think of it as a possibility. Of course Eddie’s watched them. It would only make sense. He’s a professional. “Uh,” he says, all eloquence leaving him, and Eddie laughs, his expressive eyes crinkling with amusement at the corners. 

“They’re good,” Eddie tells him, with what might be a layer of meaning underneath his words, as he arches a brow. _Fuck!_ Richie thinks. What the fuck does that mean? Maybe Eddie was just trying to get him flustered before they started. For effect. Method acting. The idea of porn as method acting makes him want to laugh really, really hard, but he manages to stifle it, as Bill finally gets off the fucking phone. 

“Okay, guys, let’s go,” Bill says, standing. “Studio Two.”

Studio Two is just a bedroom, nothing special, and something about that fact makes Richie swallow hard. A bedroom, a bed, is too close to home, so to speak. He almost wishes for some ridiculous set or plot, a weird contrived scenario. Bill isn’t really one for that sort of thing, except when he indulges his weird alien and horror fetish porn, but, well, Richie leaves that to him and Mike to dream up. Richie wonders if Bill is going to have some sort of storyline for them; he hadn’t seemed to, but Bill could be full of surprises, Richie knows all too well.

They walk in, the sound of Eddie’s voice saying “I watch your videos, you know” still echoing in Richie’s head, and Bill goes to the camera. Richie’s a little surprised he’s manning this one himself, but, well, it’s early. He trusts Bill—with cameras, anyway. Mostly. 

Richie pauses a few feet away from the bed, unsure what Bill wants them to do. Eddie’s taking off his shoes, so Richie does too, and he waits for Bill to add something.

“Get on the bed and make out,” Bill says, pointing to the bed, the jackass.

“Clothes off now?” Eddie asks, and Richie blinks rapidly. Eddie’s hands go to the hem of his soft-looking plain white shirt.

“No,” Bill says. “Take ‘em off as you go. Make out. Don’t act to the cameras, don’t stage yourselves—just make it look like you’re really making out.”

“I think he’s telling us to make out,” Richie stage-whispers to Eddie, who laughs. Eddie laughing at something he said always makes Richie feel like his blood has been replaced with sparkling water or something equally gay-seeming. Zima? Do they even make Zima anymore? Richie frantically wonders as he joins Eddie on the bed, as Bill tests his camera. 

“All set,” Bill says, as Richie inches closer to Eddie, sitting while Eddie’s on his haunches; and then Bill says to Eddie “Kiss him,” and Eddie’s reaching to cup his jaw; he’s moving closer; Eddie Kaspbrak is kissing him, something he used to dream about.

It’s just a gentle pressing of lips at first; not the wild slobbering one might expect from porn. Richie hadn’t really thought about what he’d been expecting; oddly, Eddie kissing him wasn’t really something he’d been thinking about today, because he’d been so busy obsessing about other aspects. But he’d thought about it enough as a kid, before he knew what kissing was really like, and there’s something in this that reminds him of how he’d wondered about kissing Eddie back then. He’s a little dazed just from the touch of Eddie’s mouth on his, he realizes only when Eddie tilts his head just slightly, coaxes Richie’s lips to part with a touch of his tongue. Richie inhales as Eddie smoothly slides his tongue in. 

And he’s a goner. 

Richie almost forgets Bill is there. He almost forgets that this is being recorded, that his face is going to be seen. Eddie kisses him with a tenderness that makes him feel like his heart is going to explode—and they’re just _kissing_. 

This is going to _kill_ him. 

_It’s not real_ , that little voice reminds him. _This isn’t real. Bill wants it to look real, but it’s not. Don’t forget that. Don’t fucking forget that, you idiot_.

Eddie’s hand slides down his jaw to the back of his neck, and Richie shivers. Eddie’s other hand goes to curl in the front of his t-shirt, gently pulling him closer. Eddie’s practically in his lap. That other hand moves to go up under his shirt, and Richie, needing to fucking _breathe_ anyway, pulls back with an embarrassing little gasp, and lets Eddie tug off his shirt. Eddie hums appreciatively—Richie wonders if the mic is even going to pick up such a subtle sound—and runs his hands over him, and Richie feels hot everywhere Eddie’s fingers touch him. 

Eddie leans in again to kiss him, pull his lower lip in his teeth, kiss down his jaw, nip at his neck. Richie’s starting to get breathless and shivery—he can’t help it, he has a sensitive neck, and _Eddie Kaspbrak_ is kissing him on it, fucking _biting it_. His skin is probably getting all flushed—Bill told him he’d gotten some feedback, as he called it, indicating that some of his fans like that. Well, he hopes they’re going to like this. He’s going to have Eddie Kaspbrak hickies. And God, that really makes him feel like some sort of overgrown teenager. 

He realizes Eddie’s tipping him back slowly onto the bed, sucking at his collarbone; at the feel of Eddie’s teeth on his nipple, he actually cries out, unprepared for it, and hears Eddie hiss under his breath. _Fuck_. 

As Eddie kisses his way back up Richie’s chest, one of his hands wanders to Richie’s fly, and suddenly Richie realizes he’s been letting himself be kissed—not that there’s anything wrong with that!—when he has some kissing of his own to do. When Eddie kisses his way back to Richie’s mouth, his hand now pressed over Richie’s fly and rubbing him, making him tilt his hips up onto the friction, feeling the warmth of Eddie’s hand even through his boxers and jeans, Richie grabs at the back of Eddie’s head, mussing his perfect almost-black hair, making Eddie grunt in surprise as Richie slides his tongue against Eddie’s lips and gets them to open for him this time. 

His fingers curl in Eddie’s hair as Eddie nimbly unbuttons him and gets a hand in his jeans, squeezing him through his boxers, and Richie gasps into his mouth. He curls his fingers in Eddie’s shirt, and he’s already picturing Eddie naked over him, his legs wrapped tight around Eddie’s hips. Eddie’s a good bit shorter than he is, and maybe ideally Eddie’d fuck him from behind, but that isn’t what Richie wants. Eddie can pull this off, Richie knows, having a particularly searing memory of Eddie fucking a taller man just like that. 

He tugs at the fabric, and Eddie takes the clue, shifting back to let Richie pull it off. Richie gets his hands on his hot, smooth skin, his back as Eddie leans in to kiss him again, hand returning to unzip his fly and draw his cock out through his boxers, to wrap his bare hot hand around him. Groaning, Richie rocks his hips up. Richie almost cares whether Bill is able to get all these details on camera. Seems like it’ll be a waste of time if he can’t, but Bill’s the expert here, this was all his idea, and Richie is kind of busy right now.

His cock is already rock-hard and sticky, and Eddie seems to notice this; he hums approvingly into the kiss. He breaks the kiss to murmur, “Let’s get you out of these,” with a smile in his voice, and Richie guesses Bill doesn’t really care about picking up audio because that was way too quiet like he was just intending for Richie to hear; the gist is probably getting across, anyway. 

Nodding, Richie watches as Eddie easily gets him out of his jeans like he’s done this a thousand times before, which he has, just not to Richie; and then Richie leans up on his elbows and helpfully raises his hips again as Eddie pulls down his boxers, slower this time, taking them off, revealing his cock. It’s hard and red against his abdomen, dripping and matting the hair on his stomach, and Richie can only hope Eddie is at least a little impressed on some level by the raging hard-on Richie has for him.

Eddie leans in to lick a stripe up his cock, and Richie moans. Eddie’s tongue laps at the head of his cock. “Fuck,” Richie says, the single word sounding loud in the room, and he realizes with a start that that’s the first thing he’s said. 

Eddie laughs. “Thought you’d clammed up on me there,” he murmurs.

“Fuck you,” Richie says, breathless, the very portrait of eloquence, mouthy comedian reputation obviously intact. 

“Fuck _you_ ,” Eddie returns, grinning. He shifts back to unbutton and unzip himself, shucking off his jeans, and he’s wearing little black boxer briefs because of course he is. He pulls them down around his hips, his cock standing up in a soft nest of neat black hair, and he looks mouthwatering, like he does in all his videos, except now he’s doing one with Richie. Richie wants to get his mouth on him, but he’s not sure that’s what Eddie wants. Fuck it, he’s going to ask anyway—he’s got one shot at this, why not ask. 

“Can I— Can you— C’mere. Please,” he says, beckoning.

Not that it’s not easy to guess, but Eddie seems to know what Richie wants. Eddie gets out of his little boxer briefs, and moves forward on his knees to straddle his chest. He holds his cock, pressing the head to Richie’s lips. Looking up at him, Richie takes his cock in his mouth. He can’t help closing his eyes, at least for a moment; he’s always loved sucking cock on some deep primal level, and this is _Eddie’s_ cock, so short of Eddie fucking him, this is basically heaven. Then Eddie’s hand is in his hair, fingers curling in it, pulling slightly, and Richie drags in a shaky breath through his nose, one hand going to Eddie's hip to steady him, or maybe to steady himself.

He knows he’s not supposed to get Eddie off this way, and that’s fine; he’s good with just having Eddie in his mouth, sucking lightly at him and tasting his skin, the salt of him, the weight and heat of him on his tongue. Savoring what he can. 

“Fuck, Richie. C’mon, I want to fuck you.” Eddie sounds breathless, but no less commanding for it.

Richie realizes his eyes are still closed; he opens them again to see Eddie’s stomach with its dusting of dark hair, the way he’s breathing hard, what his spit-slick red cock looks like as he sits back, and the flush on his skin as he stretches to get the bottle of lube. “Eddie,” Richie sighs, before he can stop himself.

They’re all tested regularly, and part of what Bill had told him in the confirmation message was the little factoid that Eddie wanted to bareback. He hadn’t really let himself think about it until now—it was all too much to process at once, apparently—but now he lets out a shaky groan remembering, seeing that there's indeed no condom laying on the bed. 

Eddie peels off his socks, as well as Richie’s. He sits on his heels, the bottle in his hand. “How do you want it, sweetheart?” he asks, uncapping the lube. At Eddie calling him “sweetheart,” Richie sucks in another shaky breath. _Remember, it’s not real_.

“Um,” he says, moving his legs so they’re on either side of Eddie, and he’s still on his back, “like this, like you did in the one with the… redheaded guy,” he mumbles, face hot, and Eddie laughs, surprised, maybe a little smug, maybe a little wondering. 

Eddie slicks up his fingers, and kneeling between Richie’s thighs, he slides one in. Richie’s cock spurts a little against his stomach even at just that, and he groans softly, closing his eyes tightly for a moment and tilting his head back. 

“Jesus, look at you,” Eddie whispers, almost as if to himself, sliding in a second finger and getting a little sound from Richie’s throat. A third. “You’re so fucking hot.”

Richie feels a stinging flush crawl up his neck at that, and he blinks, swallowing; there’s no need for Eddie to say things like that if Bill isn’t bothering to mic the place all that well, but maybe he is, and whatever, he needs to concentrate on burning what he just heard into his memory for future reference rather than his concerns over audio tech. 

Eddie fucks him on three fingers, his cock so hard it hurts; Eddie takes it in his other hand, punching out a moan from deep in Richie’s chest as he gives him a slow, squeezing stroke. Eddie’s thumb firmly rubbing the head of his cock combined with Eddie’s fingertips nudging his prostate is going to end him; he’s in danger of coming like this if Eddie keeps up, and that’s not what they’re supposed to be doing. “Fuck, Eddie— Eddie, please—”

“Please what?” Eddie murmurs, a little teasing, and it’s corny, it’s trite, sure, but—

“Please fuck me,” Richie rasps.

Eddie blinks; his face is pink, Richie notices, his eyes practically black. Maybe he’s just that good of an actor, but then, practically anyone begging to be fucked could be a turn-on. 

With a quick nod, Eddie slicks his cock up, draws Richie’s thighs over his own, and presses into him, slow. “Fuck, Richie,” he sighs, voice sounding tight, as Richie tries desperately to catch his mind up with what’s happening, to understanding that Eddie’s inside him. 

With a little bit of effort, he wraps his legs around Eddie’s hips—just what he’d imagined. But imagining, of course, hadn’t been anything like actually having Eddie filling him, fucking him, Eddie’s breath hot on his neck. 

Eddie’s hand wraps around his cock again, between them, and God, already Richie wants so fucking badly to come, but at the same time he wants this to last. In his solos, as they’re more artistically called (Richie prefers to just call them jerkoff vids; why beat around the bush, ha ha), by now he’s got a good sense of whether to tease himself and make himself last, or whether to just go all out until he comes super fucking hard. There’s an occasion and an audience for both. Now, though, he’s not sure what to do; maybe it won’t be up to him, he thinks.

Eddie starts sucking at his neck as he fucks him and squeezes his cock; Richie’s pretty sure his eyes roll back in his head. “Never thought you’d have a vampire fetish, Eds,” he croaks, and Eddie nips him for use of his old, supposedly hated nickname. Eddie angles his hips a way that makes Richie shout, and in short order he’s babbling. “Please, Eddie— Fuck, please—”

“That’s what I’m doing,” Eddie gets out, patient—actually he doesn’t seem nearly as out of breath as Richie, despite giving him the railing of his life. 

Eddie’s tight hand is relentless, his mouth hot on Richie’s neck, licking up Richie’s sweat. Richie groans in embarrassment at that, but it makes his cock throb anyway. Eddie’s hips are angled perfectly, he’s nailing him like it’s his job (ha ha fucking ha), and Richie finds himself wrapping his arms around him, tightening his legs around him. “Eddie, Eddie, Jesus,” he says, panting. “How are you— so fucking good at this,” he adds, and Eddie laughs.

“Practice.” Then he winks, and then he goes back to sucking at Richie’s neck.

Richie groans, shaky. Eddie changes his angle again, goes faster and then achingly slower, until Richie starts clawing at his back. “Eddie, Eddie.” God, he’s practically whining. He sounds desperate for it. Maybe he is. Yeah, he is. 

Eddie, the fucking tease, almost pulls out, as much as he can considering Richie’s got him in a vise grip, and then fucks in again at that angle that had been killing Richie. Arching his back, Richie groans again. 

“Fuck, Rich, look at you, you take me so well,” Eddie murmurs, and that makes Richie almost want to cry. _Don’t fucking say shit like that_ , he wants to say. But he wants to hear it, he’s greedy for it. 

Eddie’s acting like he’s got all day, practically; although his skin is flushed, he’s acting like having Richie writhing on his dick is just another day’s work. It kinda is.

Richie doesn’t think he has all day here, not necessarily. As much as he might like to. He’s not going to be able to take it. So to speak.

His cock is leaking like crazy, leaving slickness over Eddie’s fingers, over his own stomach, matting the hair there. That’s kind of embarrassing too; he doesn’t tend to leak overmuch, typically, but this is a lot, and it feels like it’s betraying him somehow. Of course, Eddie says, “Fuck, Richie, look how wet you are, you want it so bad,” and his voice is a rasp. “You gonna come for me, sweetheart?”

Richie _whimpers_.

He screws his eyes up tight, Eddie murmurs encouraging things, and Richie, while desperately trying not to, can’t help it anymore, and comes over Eddie’s fingers. He’s completely unraveled. And fuck, it’s too soon! It’s gotta be too soon. Eddie’s nowhere near close to coming, and that makes Richie flush uncomfortably—there’s no way he’s close, and here’s Richie coming right away on his cock like some sort of—

He looks up at Eddie, mouth open to make some sort of apology, or... something, and Eddie’s shifting back like he wants Richie’s legs to unwrap from around his hips, like he wants to pull out. He looks startled, like he hadn’t been expecting Richie to come that soon or that hard, and suddenly Richie can’t bear to feel him slide out, not yet.

“No, keep going,” Richie pants, voice quivering, and Eddie blinks, nods. He moves both hands to brace himself on the bed, and goes after his own orgasm now. 

Richie sometimes likes to keep squeezing himself after he’s come, like he wants to wring out every last bit of pleasure to the point where it’s almost painful, and there have been times where he’s already come and the guy fucking him hasn’t yet and he liked being fucked through it like he wanted himself to be sore, to ache, to feel it the next day, but he’d never been that desperate for it, not like he just was. Desperate to come, and now desperate to let Eddie use him. 

It’s too much—Richie throws his head back, pants, searches for something to grab on to and curls his fingers in the sheets like he’s holding on for dear life. He bites his lip against a sob, closing his eyes tightly. It’s too much and it’s exactly what he wants. 

“Jesus, Rich,” he hears Eddie whispering, sounding awed. At least, Richie’s hoping that’s what it is. But he’s almost beyond being embarrassed about being too eager, for wanting too much. 

Almost.

Eddie’s close, he thinks. He’s going faster, he sounds more breathless. Richie opens his eyes, wants to look, wants to watch him come. Eddie always has the most exquisitely pained-looking O face, and now Richie gets to see it in person. He locks his legs more tightly around Eddie’s hips as he pants above him, shuddering, mouth parting on a gasp, groaning as he presses deep. Coming inside Richie.

He’s beautiful, and Richie loves him more than ever. God, it’s killing him to think about it—Eddie doesn’t really talk to him anymore, he fucked him on video as part of Bill’s whatever-ass marketing scheme, and Richie is still a hopeless case. 

Eddie blinks at him. _Fuck, I’m going to say something stupid_ , Richie thinks, and before that can happen he reaches for Eddie’s face with both hands, cupping it and pulling him closer, kissing him. 

Eddie’s breathing hard, still coming down; Richie reluctantly uncrosses his ankles, thighs trembling, because he needs to move his legs. But he keeps Eddie close, groans softly before he can stop himself when Eddie pulls out. He hisses; he’s definitely going to be sore from this, but it was worth it.

Eddie bites gently at his lower lip before pulling back, and Richie blinks, taking in the fact that he feels like he got hit by an incredibly sexy truck. “Bill,” he calls hoarsely, “tell me you got that.”

There’s no answer. Richie looks over at the camera.

Bill isn’t there. 

Sucking in a breath, he looks back at Eddie, completely flummoxed. “When the fuck did Bill leave?”

Eddie laughs softly, fondly, and combs a hand through Richie’s mussed and sweaty hair. “God, I missed you,” he says.

“What the fuck,” Richie says blankly.

“I’m sorry.” Eddie tells him. “This was my idea.” He looks a little abashed. “I told Bill to set this up. I hope that was okay.”

“That’s deception, I should sue,” Richie says automatically, blinking. He feels his cheeks burn when Eddie laughs. “Why?”

“Why?” Eddie repeats, puzzled. “Like I said, I missed you. I….” He traces a fingertip over the curve of Richie’s ear. “I just… wanted to fuck you, is all.”

“Just wanted to fuck me?” Richie says, heart sinking.

“I mean, not _just_ that,” Eddie adds hastily. “We…. I didn’t know if you’d want… more than that, so—”

“You wanted to fuck me—”

“—More than just fuck you, if—”

“—so you came up with some harebrained porn scheme instead of just asking me out like a normal fucking person.”

“Well. Yes.” Eddie looks at him a long time, eyes big and worried now. “Yeah. I hope you’re not mad. I missed you, I missed us, I didn’t want to just… ask you out and have you maybe… laugh at me.” He looks miserable. Beautiful porn star Eddie Kaspbrak is upset that his childhood best friend who’s secretly been in love with him for literally decades might have laughed at him if he’d asked him out.

“I wouldn’t have fucking laughed at you, Eds. I would have thought you were playing a prank on me, maybe, probably.”

“Why?” Eddie shifts to rest his chin on Richie’s chest. Richie, full of his come, blinks at him in astonishment. “Didn’t you know I like you?”

Richie guffaws, because if he directly processes that he’s going to fall apart in even more of a mess than Eddie’s already left him. “What is this, elementary school? Jesus Christ, I hope not. Call the authorities. Something’s gone very wrong.”

Eddie pouts, and it’s adorable. “I’m putting myself out on a limb here, Richie. I…. We shouldn’t have deceived you like that, it seems dumb now, but…. I do like you. A lot.”

Richie kisses his temple. “Eddie, baby…. You can’t even conceive of how much I like you.” _Love you_ , he thinks, but that’s a conversation for another time.

“Who says I can’t?” Eddie retorts, nipping at his lower lip. “Jesus. Let’s get cleaned up, then I can take you out for a normal date.”

“If you must,” Richie says. “I’ve already put out, anyway. Hey,” he says, squinting at the camera as Eddie gets up, sitting up himself, “is that camera even on?”

Eddie pauses and looks at it. “Yes,” he says. “And it’s my camera, so—”

“—So you’ve got plenty of blackmail material on me.”

“I was going to say I’ve got something for us to watch later, or at least for me to watch.” Eddie goes to get a wad of Kleenex, and walks back to attempt to dab them clean, as a temporary measure.

“Bill said this would sell. He said there was an audience for watching me get fucked.” Richie says, feeling raw enough to say such things to Eddie. “You think there’s an audience?”

“Yes, and for all intents and purposes, right now, it’s me,” Eddie says. “This is mine, for me.”

Richie swallows. The thought of Eddie watching this later and jerking off to it is super hot, but.... “I was willing to risk my comedy career—okay, yeah, such as it is—for a chance at you.”

“I know, sweetheart.” Eddie cups his jaw with one gentle hand.

“You can’t—” _You can’t just keep calling me that_ , he thinks, but doesn’t say, closing his eyes tightly for a moment instead. It occurs to him now that maybe Eddie means it.

Eddie brushes his thumb over Richie’s cheek, soothing. “Hey. There really would be an audience, Rich, you’re hot as fuck. People would love to see that. That was Bill being honest with you there. If you ever do want to do that on camera, for real, I’m all for it. But right now I kind of just want it for us. If we do, I’ll make it my last hurrah. I think I’m getting out of porn anyway. Maybe do something boring for a while. Work in insurance. If they recognize me in the interview, it just means they’ve been watching gay porn, and we’ll both know it.”

Richie blinks at the ceiling, and finally says, “There’s just… a lot happening today.”

“There really is.” Eddie wraps his arms around Richie suddenly, tight, and Richie slumps against him a little.

“Can I like… have a nap before we go out?” Richie asks. “I’m fucking exhausted.”

“Yes you can. It’s not even noon,” Eddie tells him, and tilts up to kiss his cheek. “I’ll nap with you. Let’s go get you cleaned up.”

“There’s a bed right here.”

“We’re not sleeping on the porn bed. You live closer, I’m taking you home.”

Richie remembers how fussy Eddie had been as a neurotic kid about cleanliness, making his being a _gay porn star_ even more absurd. “I don’t think my place is up to your standards, Eds.”

“I think I can manage,” Eddie informs him.

Feeling a little stunned, Richie concedes. “Okay. Take me home.”

“Wash up and get dressed,” Eddie tells him, like he needs the reminder, but he likes it anyway.

On their way out, Eddie takes his hand, and they pass by Bill’s office. “We’re going to Richie’s to nap,” Eddie tells Bill, like it’s no big deal, which Richie guesses it isn’t. 

Bill winks at him. “Told you somebody would want that,” he says.

Eddie laughs, and Richie scoffs. “Shut up, Bill.”

**Author's Note:**

> I see someone complaining about the existence of bottom!Richie, I feel the need to write bottom!Richie.  
> Title courtesy Portugal the Man.


End file.
